


Grateful

by lightsway



Category: Quantum Break (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Mild Angst, Mild Smut, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 02:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19190281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsway/pseuds/lightsway
Summary: Jack is grateful that Amy survived.





	Grateful

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I ship Jack/Beth, too, but I also really liked Jack/Amy before things started developing with Beth. Catch my multishipping heart loving the dynamic in both pairings.

Jack is grateful that Amy survived. After his falling out with Will, he’d learned not to get too attached to people, not to grow close to anyone. A shitty life lesson that he didn’t want to have to learn, and one that’s left him envious and resentful for years of the tight-knit families he’s seen through his life. Siblings, parents, friends that are like family. It’s something Jack had, and then lost in years of life caving around him.

He’s glad he didn’t lose Amy, though. After his parents in the car crash, Will more than once, Beth, Paul...he isn’t sure he knows _how_ to lose people anymore. Thinks that maybe he’d finally break if he did.

He isn’t in love with her, and it’s okay because she isn’t in love with him either, but he takes some kind of _comfort_ in how they’ve stuck together. She was an outsider to everything until the night of the Fracture. She isn’t a physicist or scientist, an engineer or a shifter, or another part of Monarch trying to bring him down. Amy was a college student who got caught up in some shit she didn’t know anything about, and handled it pretty well, all things considered. Her breakdowns after everything had settled, when she couldn’t compartmentalize anymore, when she finally had a minute to process things - they were intense, and Jack was there for her just as she was for him, when his own breakdowns brought him to the edge.

When the realization of everything that had been lost manifested in more than just rage and painful anger and a hurt deeper than he’d felt since he was a teenager.

They’ve been _there_ , for and with each other.

And they’re here now, together, Amy atop his hips in just an unbuttoned shirt and her headband around her neck, draped above her collarbone and doing nothing to hold back her hair that's come undone from its braid and fallen over her face. They’re _here_ , Jack’s hand holding her hip, blunt fingernails digging into her ass, while his other grips her thigh, feeling the muscle beneath his fingers tense in an erratic rhythm. They’ve spoken volumes to each other in the last few months, but sometimes words don’t work anymore, and she kisses him, and he grabs her waist, and they find comfort in unceremoniously pulling off clothes and taking the time to revel in the fact that they both _lived_. They’re both here now to experience these moments, to memorize the gasp of breath in the other’s ear, the slide of legs around hips, of hands in hair and-

And fuck, maybe he should’ve taken up poetry.

But fuck if it also isn’t true. Maybe really understanding the futility of their actions, really _learning_ that nothing they did could stop anything, that the future was going to happen whether they wanted it to or not - maybe all of it came around and made him realize that he’s fucking lucky to have these moments anymore.

And he has someone to enjoy them with.

Amy’s hand loosens on his jacket and she grabs for his chest instead, nails dragging, and he knows she’ll apologize for it later, but he doesn’t mind, he doesn’t care, the fire in the wake of her nails feels like _living_ , and he pushes himself up, sliding one arm around her waist to pull her close so he can kiss her chest, her neck, beneath her chin. He’s _alive_ , and she’s alive, and he knows it by the gasp of his name, only half-formed on her lips, and the clench of thighs on either side of his hips, and maybe they’re not in love but he’s grateful for her and her hands gripping his hair and how she confides in him when she feels small and how she touches his face and kisses his forehead and fucking hell, he’s grateful for her, he’s lucky, he’s _lucky-_

She buries her face against his shoulder and she’s close, he can tell, and his hand slips between them for friction and pressure, and he comes shortly before she does, because of course he does, but it doesn’t matter because she’s holding him tight and he’s clinging to her, breathing in the scent of sweat and the chill of spring nighttime creeping at the edges of the window, and as he comes down from this high and he’s panting against her chest and she’s resting her chin atop his head, he’s glad she’s here.

“Jack,” she says, and it’s more an exhale than a word, a statement than a request, and he wonders if she feels the same, too.

He helps her shrug out of her shirt, and she pulls off his jacket and kisses his eyes, his nose, his lips, before rolling onto the bed beside him and covering herself with his coat. _We have blankets_ , he’s joked with her before, but she likes his jacket, and he likes her, and he’s so fucking grateful for her.


End file.
